


Bedtime Story

by Entwinedlove



Series: Bingo Bonanza 2019 [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff Bingo Quarter 2, Gen, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwinedlove/pseuds/Entwinedlove
Summary: They might sound different but even young men share bedtime stories.





	Bedtime Story

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Fluff Bingo](https://fluffbingo.dreamwidth.org/) card #35, Square N2 - Dance and also [Star-Spangled Bingo](https://star-spangled-bingo.tumblr.com/) Square N3 - Free Space

[ ](https://imgur.com/CTq0ppO)

As Bucky came through the door of their tenement apartment, he was already starting to take his jacket and tie off. The night was hot and muggy and he'd worked up a sweat at the dance hall. He thought the band might have played even more fast paced songs than usual.

Not that Bucky was complaining. He'd danced with several girls and paid special attention to his date and Steve's date. He'd felt bad that Steve had bailed, again, but he knew how the heat and humidity affected his breathing. Dancing just wasn't in the cards for Steve when things were like this. Steve didn't dance anyway.

Bucky was half out of his shirt when he realized Steve was sitting on the couch, head cocked at an odd angle and his sketchpad at his feet where it had tumbled to the floor when he'd fallen asleep. Bucky finished pulling off his shirt and made sure to be more quiet as he headed to the bedroom to undress for bed.

He must not have been quiet enough because when he came back out, Steve was standing in the living room, closing the cover of his sketchbook and tidying up. "Hey Buck," he said softly when Bucky came out of the room in just his undershirt and shorts. "How'd the dancing go?"

"Would have been more fun with you there," he said.

"I highly doubt that. Franny didn't really seem interested in me anyway. She was staring at you more often than not while we were getting a Coke from the drug store."

"That's 'cuz I was talking more. If you told more stories the girls would look at you too," Bucky said, though he knew it was a bluff.

Steve saw through it and snorted. "They don't want to hear how I got beat up in the alley or around the corner from the theater. They don't care."

"We just have to find you a gal who does," Bucky said. He walked forward and flopped on the couch, propping his feet up on the wooden crate they'd salvaged from the docks. It was splintered and made the apartment smell of saltwater and tar but it was free and a good foot stool for their lumpy couch. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right, Buck. You don't got to worry about me."

"You know I do anyway, punk." He reached out and grabbed his hand. He didn't tug on it until Steve had stretched out and set his sketchbook on the table. Steve yawned when he settled back down beside Bucky and Bucky smiled at him. "What sort of dames do you like? I'm obviously striking out here with Franny and Mary and Patricia."

Steve looked down at his lap and his shoulders raised up near his ears. Bucky braced himself for the fight he was gearing up to give. Then he relaxed and propped his head against Bucky's shoulder. "I don't know. Brunettes maybe?"

"Don't like blondes then?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's the girl's hair color that's the problem."

"Nah, I don't think so either. You got along fine with Gladys before she caught the eye of that fella from Jersey." Bucky wrinkled his nose. "What she sees in a guy from Jersey, I can't even imagine."

Steve laughed. "Maybe it's not the girls that are the problem. I mean, when you try to set us up on dates they're probably expecting someone who looks more like you, right?"

Bucky said, "It shouldn't matter what you look like. You're the best damn fella I know."

"Yeah, well. I don't know what to tell you. Nothing about this package is going to change. I'm always going to be this scrawny little guy who gets sick at the drop of a hat. You might as well stop trying to set me up on dates, you're just lowering your popularity that way." Steve yawned again and raised his hand to his mouth to try and cover it.

"Let's go to bed. You're tired, I'm tired. We can worry about finding you a gal later."

Steve rolled his eyes. He stood and led the way to their bedroom. He undressed slowly as Bucky crawled into his small bed on one side of the room. "We're going to find you a dame, one day Steve. She's going to appreciate you for who you are, for your big heart and scrappy fighting skills—"

"You mean my often bruised face?" Steve asked from his own bed.

"And you're going to get married and move out of the city, or at least out of this little shit hole. You're going to get that picket fence, that picture-perfect life you hear about on the radio and see in the movies and read about in the books."

"You're crazy, Bucky," Steve said. Bucky could hear him yawn again and his words were a bit slurred with oncoming sleep when he asked. "What about you? Aren't you going to get that too?"

"Yeah, sure," Bucky said. He swallowed to hide the doubt in his words. "My girl and I'll live next door to you and yours. Our kids will grow up together. We'll be grumpy, old men sitting on our front steps and smoking, watching the youngin's play while our wives gossip and make roast dinners every Sunday."

"Mmm, don't talk about food, Buck, makes me too hungry."

Bucky felt the gnawing ache of too many missed meals in his own belly and nodded in agreement even though Steve couldn't see him in the dark. "It'll be great, you'll see. We'll be happy and everything will be grand. We'll go dancing every Saturday."

"I can't dance," Steve murmured, almost asleep.

Bucky hummed. "You will. I'll try to teach you again. We'll work on it. You gotta be able to dance so when you meet your girl you'll be able to sweep her off her feet." Steve didn't answer except with the slow, deepening breathing that meant he'd fallen asleep.


End file.
